Member-only story
If I’m not looking for my keys, it’s my glasses.
Or the book I wanted to read from in class.
Or the book I put the check in, as a bookmark.
Or it’s the credit card I thought was in this back pocket,
but now that it’s not there, where the hell is it?
That sinking feeling? I live with it all the time.
And now again, for the 50,000th time,
I am looking for my purse. Looking everywhere.
I looked in the car, and
under the blankets in the trunk.
I looked upstairs.
I looked in the bathrooms,
on the dining room chairs,
on the backs of the bar stools,
I looked by the front door,
I looked in the basement.
WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PURSE!
Where is my sanity?
I’m pissed off and lonely.
I’m pissed off and ashamed and tired
of being ashamed of myself all the time.
Here’s what I want.
I want a God that is a savvy
elder woman with her game ON.
